The Nash Sisters

by Leatha Marie

  The

  Nash

  Sisters

  The Nash Sisters

  Copyright © 2019 by Leatha Marie

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Permission requests should be sent to info@writewaypublishingcompany.com.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-1-946425-52-2

  Book Design by CSinclaire Write-Design

  Book Cover Design by Pro_ebookcovers

  Cover Art by Noyes Capehart, Red Vine II,

  Acrylic on canvas 16” x 20”, Private Collection

  The

  Nash

  Sisters

  A STORY OF FAMILY STICKING

  TOGETHER WHEN IT COUNTS

  Leatha Marie

  CONTENTS

  1946

  Ethel – Preface

  June 1940

  Marie – Conversations While Learning about Death

  July 1941

  Ethel – Marie’s Father

  November 1927

  Frank – The Big Announcement

  May 1928

  Ethel – Plans Change

  1930

  Nash Sisters – The Nash Round-Robin Letters Begin

  January 1931

  Annie – Disaster at Home

  March 1932

  Dianne – Settling Momma’s Estate

  April 1932

  Ethel – Visiting Caroline

  October 1935

  Dianne – Conversations While Waiting

  1940

  Nash Sisters – The Nash Round-Robin Letters

  August 1941

  Annie – Missing My Family

  June 1945

  Ethel – Decisions, Decisions

  1946 – PREFACE

  Ethel

  MY NAME IS ETHEL NASH. Actually it is Ethel Nash Fox Martin. Don’t judge until you understand. I’m one of four sisters raised by our momma after our papa was killed at the beginning of the great war. Momma taught me and my sisters Dianne, Annie, and Caroline to work hard, help your family, and be generous to others—even when they make you mad. Although we were not perfect, the Nash Sisters were interesting. Best of all we knew how to stick together.

  In growing up, I learned some big lessons. One very important one is that conversation is the key that opens the mind and the heart. To learn about each other you need to do a lot of talking and listening. The best conversations seem to happen around perceptions of memories and events we thought we were sure of. Knowing when to talk and when to listen is the tricky part. Even when you are certain about something, you may find you do not have the whole picture. Those times can get some interesting conversations going for sure, maybe even shake you up a bit.

  There have been great conversations for generations in my family where happiness, tears, laughter, anger, and confusion were shared. We don’t really know what we learned until we are older. In the moment, we may be sure of what is going on, like when my first love was to be my husband forever. Then time moves through and changes things. The most significant together moments with my family have marked either celebrations or misery. With either, we talk and tell the truth as we see it, and we laugh when we can.

  I am the sister who kept memories while growing up in the 1920s—the decade of optimism, the 1930s—the decade of depression and the 1940s—the decade of war. What a time it was! We didn’t know we were poor or missing out on anything. We just were the Nash family. The stories are real—at least how I remember them or was told about them. They are too important to lose, so I share them.

  JUNE 1940

  Marie

  Conversations While Learning about Death

  My daughter Marie was a child when she first learned that being pulled into situations of caring for others can be life-changing. My sister, her aunt Dianne, came home from the hospital to “let God take her to heaven.” Marie’s cousin, Suzy, was not just a cousin, she was her best friend. Their lives were about to change as we began a new understanding of sisterhood.

  I KNEW AUNT DIANNE WAS about to die. She had been sick for a long time. It seemed to be all the grownups talked about these days. My momma, papa, and all the others who got together on Sundays talked about whether Aunt Dianne was having a good day or a bad day.

  My cousin Suzy is my best friend. We live really close and ride the same bus for school every day. Last week on the bus ride home, Suzy told me that her momma’s last hospital visit did not make her better, so she wanted to come home to die. I was struck with sadness, but I could not let it out. I had no right to be sad because Suzy was the most pitiful right now. I moved closer to Suzy so we touched, but I did not hug her. I didn’t want to risk being teased by the other kids on the bus. We rode the rest of the bus ride in silence.

  The school bus let us off and began turning around as Suzy dashed off, her shoes flying, to the back of her house. Even though there was one more stop before my house, I followed Suzy. I joined her sitting on the back porch steps. She was staring at the trees, watching squirrels dart about looking for somewhere to hide the acorns. My eyes followed hers as I wondered what she might be seeing. I hugged her hard. Neither one of us said anything for a few moments.

  Then Suzy let her words flow like water coming down a stream on a rainy day. “Mrs. Gregson has been staying with me while Momma has been sick. Nurses have been coming to care for Momma. Somebody is here every day. I want them to go away. I just want Momma to get better. I want it to be like it used to be.”

  Suzy lowered her head toward her bare feet. After a few minutes she turned her face to me and asked, “What do they do with children that don’t have a momma or a papa? What will happen to me?”

  I finally let the tears run. I pulled at the pocket of my dress to find the handkerchief Momma always made me carry. I wiped my tears, blew my nose, and handed it to Suzy. She did the same. Staring at the handkerchief, Suzy said, “Cousin snot. I guess it’s better than nothing.”

  That evening I asked Momma about what Suzy told me. Momma said, “Yes, it is true. Dianne has been sick for a long time and has decided to come home so she could let God take her.” I felt a lump in my throat and my eyes got hot. I didn’t know you had a choice about where and when you die.

  At dinner Papa said we were staying at Aunt Dianne’s house this weekend to be with her. I wasn’t sure what this would be like. I didn’t want to go except to be with Suzy. But Momma said I was to “pay my respects” to her dying sister. She said I was old enough to witness Aunt Dianne going to be with God. “And besides,” she said, “your Aunt Dianne was there when you came into this world, and I want you to be there when she leaves this world.” Then Momma said, “Anyway, Suzy will need her good friend around.”

  We all got up from the table and began clearing away our plates. When I stood, I looked down at my feet and wondered what it might be like to fly up to heaven.

  I finally looked at Momma and tried not to cry. “Oh, Momma, I am sorry you are losing your sister. It must hurt an awful lot.”

  Momma took a moment as if to be careful about her words. Then she bent down and put her hands on my shoulders and said, “Yes, it hurts, dear girl. But Dianne has been in terrible pain for some time. Once she passes on, she will no longer hurt. And that is better than just staying around to keep me company.”

  I hugged her hard and listened to her breathe. I love hearing my momma’s breath. It is so calming and makes me feel safe. Her breathing now was just li
ke always. Slow and steady with her chest moving only a little. When she stepped away from our hug, I noticed there were tears on her face. She wiped them quickly and went to finish clearing the dishes from the table.

  That night I asked Papa to put me to bed. I wanted to talk some more about this but not make Momma cry. He said, “I’ll be glad to, little girl, if we don’t read that silly book about a woman flying around by an umbrella.”

  “Papa, that is Mary Poppins! And I love that book!” I exclaimed.

  “I know you do, but we’ve read it over and over. And you always cry at the end. We don’t need any more crying tonight,” Papa said with that voice that means and that’s all we are going to say about that.

  When it was bed time, I put on my warmest pajamas. Even though it was spring and warm in the house, I couldn’t get my body warm. I jumped in the bed and brought the covers high on my neck.

  Papa came in and sat next to me on the bed. “So what book are we going to read tonight, little girl? Besides Mary Poppins . . .”

  “Papa, I don’t want to read. I want to talk about what it means to go be with God.”

  Then my questions came pouring out. “Momma said Aunt Dianne will go be with God this weekend while we are there. Will I see it happen? Does it hurt? Can I say goodbye to Aunt Dianne? Will she cry? Aunt Dianne, I mean. And what about Suzy?”

  Papa and I talked for what seemed like hours. He answered every question and gave me time to ask more. As I was getting sleepy, he said, “Little girl, the important thing for you to do this weekend is remember everything you see and hear. This is an extraordinary thing that you will witness. Death is a part of living, and I think Dianne will do it in a way that will make all of us feel better.”

  We went to Aunt Dianne and Suzy’s house very early the next morning. Momma explained that people from Dianne’s church were taking turns caring for Aunt Dianne. This week it was Mrs. Sanders. When we got there, she let Mrs. Sanders go home to rest, and Momma took charge. Momma closed the bedroom door and told people to stay out until she could get Aunt Dianne ready for company. I guess she was bathing her, washing her hair, and putting her in fresh clothes. Momma called Papa in the room, closed the door again, and then we heard furniture moving around.

  Not long after that Momma called us in the room, and with a big smile she said, “Now, Suzy, doesn’t your momma look fresh as a daisy?” Momma used to say that to Papa and me every time we got a bath, washed our hair, and put on clean clothes.

  Papa said that we all had duties to help Aunt Dianne. He put one hand on my head and the other on Suzy’s shoulder and said, “She will need help from all of us over the next few days. Girls, we have duties for you.”

  Suzy and I were in charge of reading to Aunt Dianne, folding paper cranes for her room, and getting ice chips. We had to chop up the block of ice small enough she would not choke on the chips. We kept a bowl of ice ready for anytime Aunt Dianne let us know she was thirsty. Suzy would give her momma some ice with a spoon, and I was the one to wipe up any mess we made.

  Aunt Dianne’s bed had been turned so she could see outside. After all that commotion, Aunt Dianne was awake and staring out the window. She was smiling— with her eyes. She watched the birds at the feeder, looked at the brilliant color of her flowers in full bloom, and felt a breeze blowing in from the open window. I began to look at those things as she might be seeing them. It was all more beautiful than I had noticed before.

  My momma is a good seamstress. She makes clothes and mends things for lots of people. From a paper bag, she pulled out a handmade pillow with a yellow cover she had been working on. On the front of the pillow, in a cross-stitch pattern, was the word SISTER. As she placed the pillow under Aunt Dianne’s legs, Momma said, “This will make it more comfortable for Dianne to sleep. A little rise in the legs makes the back lay straighter.” I knew Momma had been careful to find the fabric and the filling so it would be just the right softness for her sister.

  Suzy and I were good at folding paper cranes. We learned that in Bible School last summer. Suzy’s momma let us practice them all the time with different colors of paper. Once we had a few dozen folded, Aunt Dianne would send them to the women at the Whitman’s Chocolate Company to put in the tins they sent to soldiers. The paper cranes were also called peace cranes and were supposed to make the soldiers feel better about being in a war.

  Papa said, “Aunt Dianne has been fighting her sickness for a while. These cranes will help her feel more at peace.”

  Suzy smiled and I could tell she liked that idea.

  I decided this time we would write something on each one that was a memory of the fun times with her momma. We gathered the paper and pencils, went to the kitchen table, and began folding. After the first few were folded, Suzy just sat there. It was hard for her to get started. “I can’t think of anything happy. It’s all sad,” she said.

  So I started. “Do you remember that time we helped feed the pigs with your momma, and you slipped and fell in the pen? She laughed real hard and told us that everyone has to fall in a pig pen at least once. She said to you, ‘Now you’ve done your turn.’ Then we all laughed some more, and I plopped myself down beside you in the mud. I am gonna write on this one 1st Pig Pen Fall.”

  Suzy managed a giggle and started writing Twinkies for Pigs. When I read what she wrote, I laughed. “That was so fun!” Our memories flashed back to the day that Aunt Dianne brought home a truckload of Twinkies for the pigs.

  “Hey, girls, I have a treat for the pigs, but I need your help,” Aunt Dianne said as she pulled into our yard. Suzy jumped on the back bumper of the truck and peered over the tailgate. She saw thousands of Twinkies, still in their individual wrappers.

  “For the pigs? Why not for us?” Suzy asked in anticipation.

  “Where did you get so many Twinkies?” I asked excitedly after I hopped up beside Suzy.

  Aunt Dianne explained, “I went to the bake shop and market in town where they sell these. The owners say they can’t sell them after they get old, so I can have as many as I want. The pigs don’t care if the Twinkies are old. They can eat anything—except the wrappers. Climb inside and take off the wrappers. We are going to give Twinkies to the pigs!”

  Suzy and I climbed up and began ripping open the sweet treats, throwing the wrappers off the side of the truck. We got faster and faster at it. After it was too late, Aunt Dianne said, “Don’t eat too many, the sugar will go to your head!” We began jumping all over the truck. We landed on top of the Twinkies and laughed like hyenas.

  Remembering that day, Suzy and I began laughing all over again. “I think I ate about a hundred of those Twinkies,” said Suzy.

  “I know, and then you threw them up all over the yard,” I teased. It was good to see Suzy happy. If only for a few moments.

  Late that afternoon when things were quiet and visitors had slowed, I went into Aunt Dianne’s bedroom. I wanted to go in by myself and try to do what Papa said—to remember everything. Aunt Dianne was sleeping soundly. The bedroom was filled with family pictures, treasures, and many things I had seen a hundred times but never really studied. They all seem to be important to her, otherwise she would not have taken such care to place them just so.

  Her jewelry was hanging on the wall. Momma said Uncle Joe built her that necklace hanger. It was a wooden frame with three rows of pegs on small boards placed in the middle of the frame. This was where she put her jewelry after coming back from church or an evening out when she dressed fancy. I could see her raise the necklace from her neck, pull it around her head, and carefully hang it on the necklace hanger like she had done time and time again. This was one of the hundreds of things Uncle Joe built for her before he died. He built things for her just because she said she would like it.

  The dresser and bureau were covered in flowers, plants, a precious stone, a cross, and other things people had given her. I think all those things were a way of saying how much they love her. She helped so many people. And now they must have b
een saying thank you.

  On the low table by her bed, there was a miniature garden. I know my momma made that with Aunt Dianne. They spent the afternoon in the backyard last fall, searching for the right kind of moss, sticks, rocks, and acorns to add to the planter. When I asked them what they were making, Momma said it was “a land for a person to live in peace.” They both laughed out loud.

  I don’t remember seeing it finished until now. There was a small Asian fisherman carved out of green shiny stone. He was holding a fishing pole with the line hanging in the water. The water was made of something that looked like clear nail polish, and you could see a fish under the water just watching the man with the pole. That fish was not going to go near the line and that seemed okay with the fisherman. There was a squirrel, some geese, and other animals in the planter—none larger than my baby finger. There was a miniature tree just behind the man. Momma called it a bonsai. The quiet fisherman sat looking over his land. He looked like he was at peace. I knew he was watching over Aunt Dianne too.

  There were pictures of Uncle Joe in several places around the room. One was a picture of a young Uncle Joe and another man wearing dark suits. They didn’t look very happy but stood tall for the picture. I’m gonna have to ask Momma about that one, I thought.

  Another was a picture of Aunt Dianne and Uncle Joe during wartime. Uncle Joe had on his private-in-the-army uniform, and he had his arm around Aunt Dianne. She looked lovely in a dark dress with white trim around the collar. Her dark hair was combed and set pretty. They were both smiling so big. Momma once told me that picture was taken on their wedding day.

  She said, “I was there when they got married. The day after the picture was taken Uncle Joe went to the war. It was a happy sad day. Happy because my sister just married her best friend and sad because he was going away.”

  My favorite picture of Uncle Joe is as a young man. He was wearing a work shirt carefully tucked into his jeans. It looked like he had been working in the garden because his clothes were covered in dirt. Uncle Joe was walking down a dirt path toward the person taking the picture. He had a shy smile with his head tipped slightly to one side. He was a handsome man. I know why Aunt Dianne and Momma loved him so. Momma used to say, “Joe is as good a man as anyone could find, just like your papa.”